d.b.potts

horace.person

i really really like this. but so it doesn't all spill out before i can type it out, i'm just going to type all the first things that come to my head, instead of organizing them (positives/negatives)

really awesome imagery and non-cookie cutter descriptions. super plus.

after reading it twice the lover in the beginning throws me off. i don't really see her purpose in the poem, but there could be something i'm not getting.

i like all the commas, i find that really interesting and the way you use them especially. however, the only instance i'm confused is "skipping faces like odd pebbles/ from twelve floors up: sorrow on the outskirts of Chinatown/ and Little Italy" --- ACTUALLY i think i just got it. the speaker is looking at people? seems to make sense, maybe this could be clearer.

"the air that breathes" really bothers me. the air doesn't breathe.

"the world smells like frozen dirt/ and gasoline" is excellent. the photos of the "backs of sincere eyes" confuses me because it's the back of their eyes and i just can't see that in my mind. "a poor night soul eating in the shade" is really captivating. maybe hyphenate night-soul.

the first line of S3 confuses me. the widening of the window is the confusing part. is it trying to say because it's later in the day, because there is more light, more people? that's probably what it's saying, but because i don't know that for sure i'm confused.

"those blue, black stories/ written for the stars and street lights" is excellent. same with "those poor anthems,/ beaten to life"

the end sort of bothers me. i feel all it does is justify the title (which i think can be done in maybe a different way). the idea of graffiti is interesting, but it only seems to be evident in those last two lines, which makes it very very specific on a backdrop of vague, general, looking up from the 12th floor kind of view.


great poem thank you

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had to remove picture, couldn't think of something creative enough to replace it with, go figure --

Eiji Tunsinagi

I think if you shortened the stanzas and made it appear more inviting (just to the eye, if anything) I think it could hold itself up great without the big-ol stanzas. The images and feeling this one conjures are phenomenal. I can't say I know the feeling, but it made me immersed in it and I had to know it. Good work.

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"nothing is perfect, nothing lasts, and nothing is finished."

"how will you go about finding that thing the nature of which is totally unknown to you?"

Severn

I'm coming back later to this one; I really like it.

But, like Eiji says - it needs breathing space. But, more later.

littletimebomb

I loved this poem, but the line breaks, colons, and semi-colons distracted me from the content of the poem. Honestly I almost didn't finish reading it. I'm glad I did though, because its beautifully written.

to watch out for grief,
for something more real, so the insightful devils in the best of us
can hear the music in low-down places: those blue, black stories
written for stars and street lights. Those poor anthems,
beaten to life on backstreet brick walls and fallen bridges:
no more sweet sonnets; no more hot soup for hearts busted
at last, by a truth. Just cold spray paint as a chronicle
of the best lights, fading from all the same low places.

I loved this part.

The content of the poem is excellent, but I really can't stress how much the form ruins the chance of the reader being able to see how beautiful the peice really is.

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"All I ever wanted was to pick apart the day,
and put the pieces back together my way." -Aesop Rock


"Life is like a song, can you keep the beat?"-Felt

d.b.potts

Thank you all for your feedback. What would everybody suggest for the structure, though? Should I jsut bring it all together, or break it down more?

I do agree the immense stanzas are daunting.

Baron

I would suggest the old standard method of reading aloud and using the enjambment naturally to fit the way that you would want it read. Use the line breaks to give the drama and to guide the spoken word.

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huni

He said what I think
so much to love, love in this - make it nice for us. huni

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each time we see the face ...it is our own ideas of him which we recognize. Proust

d.b.potts

Thanks, Baron, for the idea. And thank you, huni, for the encouraging words. I'll work on it and repost. Be sure to let me know your thoughts on the revision.

The comments are much appreciated.

Severn

Ah, this is even more lovely on the second day of reading.

First, my niggles:

You're going to work on the space of the piece so nothing more needs to be said about that.

The last line - I think you don't need it. It reads like a summing-up line, like an affirmation of the title, and that always weakens a piece of poetry. It stands just fine ending on the line of the third stanza.

'Later now: and wide enough a window to watch out for grief,
for something more real,'

That something more real just isn't fitting the tone of the poem, for a couple of reasons. First, it reads like over-explained overkill. Like you're labouring a point. Second, every other line is a solid image. Or, a metaphor/simile based around a solid image. So, 'something more real' is intangible, and jarring to the general feel.

All that punctuation! Honestly, not sure what you were going for with that. Far too many colons and semi-colons, it's just plain messy to my eyes. Now, arguably that's just my personal response, but I can say that if the first few lines hadn't grabbed me, I wouldn't have continued. To me, these lovely lines deserve to be given clean, breathing space. The blocked-in stanzas coupled with the excess punctuation deny them that.

Early still: and the world smells like frozen dirt
and gasoline. A little street, Bell North, starves below.
Down-and-out: sleepy Italian music; red wine; black and white
photos of the backs of sincere eyes leering down the sidewalk,
from here, to down there: at a poor night soul eating in the shade
of a dumpster behind the junk shop: another unlucky mortal light.

This, is just beautiful. It's like good music. And over all though? This poem made me remember what it felt like to write poetry every day.

d.b.potts

Thank you Severn.
The punctuation is kind of a part of me. It comes out with the words I guess. I'll try to slim it down a bit, but perhaps the space I'm going to add will help out.

Again, I really appreciate it.

d.b.

Severn

Yeah, that's the thing with writing from yourself - it can be difficult to step back and say 'right, although I love you colons, you have to be reduced' heh.

I've always been a limited-punctuation girl, but my thing was dashes. Dashes everywhere - reproducing the way I speak in a visual way. I still use them sometimes, but I've got a grip on it.

Edit: Now, I'm laughing. I used a dash, while talking about dashes, without realising it. See? Criminal. ~giggles~

huni

Grrrrh!

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each time we see the face ...it is our own ideas of him which we recognize. Proust

huni

Sorry to intrude d.b.

Severn, tell me how you did it. Did you go to Dashes Anonymous? Can I join? h

__________________
each time we see the face ...it is our own ideas of him which we recognize. Proust

Severn

Hah. My name is K and I am a dash-oholic. God, that was bad. Ignore me.

Um, how'd I do it. Stern, objective looking of poems at all angles. Reading aloud. Thinking - is that dash truly necessary? An enforced paring down of style I guess..